“Why would you help me?”
The man shifted his body in the seat but kept his gaze focused on the windshield, occasionally rotating his head or shifting his eyes between the front and side windows. “Does the name Sandiego Ortega mean anything to you?” he finally said.
Robby grinned. “Diego Ortega was my friend, when I was young.” “He was, I know. He thought a lot of you.”
“And how would you know that?”
The man reached into his pocket and removed a protein bar. He tore it open and handed it across the seatback to Robby, who struggled to maneuver it in his handcuffed grip. He brought it toward his mouth and hungrily attacked the food.
“Easy, easy. When you haven’t eaten in days, you can throw up. And I don’t feel like driving the rest of the way with vomit in my car.”
“Why are you helping me?” Robby asked again, his voice muffled as he chewed on the food.
“Diego told me you moved, after your uncle was killed. He said he missed you. He was angry at first, because he didn’t understand why you would leave him.”
“Wasn’t my idea. When my uncle was murdered, I didn’t have a choice. I went to live with my mother back east.” He took another bite of the bar, chewing quickly in case the man changed his mind and yanked it away.
“It changed his life, your leaving. Not for the better.”
“Why would anything I did change his life?”
“Your uncle was like a father to him, his house a sanctuary. When Diego was there, he could escape.”
“How do you know all this?”
The man reached up and clicked the overhead light, then turned toward Robby. His face was now partially visible, exposed in muted hues with dark shadows exaggerating his features.
Robby stopped chewing and stared.
“Because, Robby, I am Diego.”
Robby fought to sit upright, but his efforts failed. “Diego—”
“It is good to see you, Robby. We have much to talk about, but we can’t do it with Willie here.”
“Willie?”
“Willie Quintero, one of Villarreal’s inside guys. He doesn’t know our relationship. If he finds out, we will both be killed.” Diego turned off the dome light, then craned his neck to look outside. “Finish your bar before he comes back. I’ve gotta get us some gas.” He climbed out and moved around to the pump, sorted it out and shoved the hose into the tank. The front door popped open and Diego stuck his head inside. “I think you know you were being held by the Cortez drug cartel. And I think you know they were going to kill you.”
“That was becoming clear, yeah.”
“Word of your cover being blown spread. Cortez made no secret that he had a federal agent and that he was going to make an example of you. He said it was time to stop fearing the U.S.
“That doesn’t explain your involvement.”
“I’m with the Villarreal cartel. You asked how your leaving could’ve changed my life. When you left, I had nowhere to go that was safe. My father . . . I never told you this, but he used to . . . ” Diego took a deep breath, his gaze wandering around the interior. “Let’s just say I couldn’t stay there.”
“What did he do to you?”
“Do you really want to know?”
Robby pushed himself up onto his left elbow. “If you feel comfortable telling me.”
The pump clicked off. Diego stepped away, handled the gas hose, then got back into the passenger seat and closed the door. “He abused me, Robby. Sexual stuff. That’s all I want to say about it.”
Robby knew admitting that took a lot of courage on his friend’s part, and he let the issue drop. “I’m sorry, man. I didn’t know.”
“I didn’t want you to know. Hard for a boy to admit that shit. I couldn’t tell anyone. But that’s why staying at your place was so important. It was the only way I could escape that fucker. When you moved, I went to Mexico. Ran away. I had nothing, no clothes, no money. I joined a gang to survive. Eventually I graduated to the cartel. Paid good, gave me a life I could be proud of.”
“You’re proud of what you do?”
“I was.”
“I came back,” Robby said. “To LA. I lived in Burbank, joined the LAPD. Because of my uncle.”
Diego nodded, thought a moment, then said, “Have you ever told anyone? About your uncle? About what you did?”
Robby looked away.
“I’ll take that as a no,” Diego said.
“I couldn’t. Just like you couldn’t tell anyone about your father.”
Diego turned to face him. “It’s not the same. And the sooner you can admit that, the sooner your soul will be cleansed.”
Robby chuckled. “You’re telling me about cleansing my soul?”
“I found God, Robby. I’m a changed person.”
Robby studied his friend’s face. “You’re serious.”
“The Sandiego Ortega that Willie Quintero and the rest of the cartel members know is no longer. He’s dead to me.”
“Bullshit. Didn’t you just hose those guys in that yard, back at the house?”
“That was Willie. I was shooting, yeah, but I was aiming low and wide.”
“Come on, man. How long do you think you can survive in this cartel with your newfound religion?”
“I can’t.” Diego turned away. “The minute they ask me to blow somebody away, I’m going to have to refuse, and they will then kill me. I won’t just be useless to them, I’ll be a liability. I know too much. I know a lot.”
“Then we’ve both gotta get out of here.” Robby tried again to sit up but couldn’t negotiate the maneuver in the small backseat. He held up his cuffed wrists. “Unhook me. Now.”
“It’s too dangerous. I sold the idea to my boss that you’re worth more to him in credits with the DEA. But the real reason is that if I get you out, you have to take me with you. I will confess to one killing. They will probably want to send me to prison, I understand that.”
“You’ll be killed. The cartel, they’ll find you.”
Diego leaned close, across the backseat. In a hushed voice, he said, “I’ll be in witness protection,
“Witness protection or not, I’m sure you realize the danger inv—”
“I can take care of myself,
“Me?”
“If we’re going to do this, you need to confess, too. Make right with the Lord.”
Robby jolted backward, as if burned by a stove. “What are you talking about?”
“You know what I’m talking about.” His gaze turned dark and hard. “Don’t insult me.” He waited and when Robby did not respond, Diego tightened his lips. “If you’re going to play games, the deal’s off. I’ll find my own way into custody. I’m giving you a way out, Robby—for both of us.”
Robby ground his molars. He knew what Diego was referring to. Fourteen years ago, Robby’s uncle was shaken down by a Los Angeles gang running a protection ring. That his uncle would land on their radar was something Robby never understood. His convenience store made, at best, a modest profit. Regardless, his uncle made the payment for several years, until the store fell on hard times. He then faced a choice: feed his family or cover the monthly protection fee. He chose to buy food.
After a month of warnings, one day after school when Robby was in the store, Gerardo Soto grabbed Robby around the neck and threatened to kill him unless his uncle paid up—with interest. His uncle told Soto he was done, that he didn’t have the money—and that no one threatened his family. Soto and his two thugs pulled weapons. Robby broke free and fled, but in the reflection of the Coke refrigeration unit, he saw Soto riddle his uncle’s body
